I have always had vivid, bizarre dreams. I am fairly certain that this happens every night, but I only remember the dreams when I wake up in the middle of them. This week, I have had two I can recall.

1) I was in a house, eating a meal with some random people from college, when I heard singing outside. I went to the window. There was a gospel choir on the lawn, singing “Angels We Have Heard on High.” A friend of one of my friends – we’ll call him “Ned” – was handing out signs to the singers in the front. They read “ML 4Eva.” He looked up and waved at me, expecting me to be impressed. I was confused at the song selection, since it was not Christmas time, and I was embarrassed because I was not interested. I went back to the table, hoping he would go away.

2) I was sitting at the zoo with my friend Lauren and some different random people from college. Lauren and I decided it was a good time to sing “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips. We were getting really into it. I remember shaking my fist emphatically, like Celine Dion might.

Don't you know things could change, things could go your way?

Some of this makes sense. I am clearly spending too much time on Facebook, hence the cameos by a number of classmates I haven’t spoken to in years. I am not even subliminally interested in “Ned.” And it has been too long since I’ve been to karaoke. However, where did the gospel choir come from? Or the zoo? Or the Wilson Phillips?

I like to believe that dreams mean something, but more often than not, they seem to be nothing more than brain vomit. And the most memorable pile my brain has ever regurgitated – this is a gross metaphor! – is the recurring nightmare I had as a child in which I was trapped in a sewer with Richard Simmons.

No thanks, Richard. I'll pass.

Luckily, this was a poop-free sewer. It had Nickelodeon-style slime instead, in a bunch of different colors. I most clearly remember him trying to lure me into the blue slime, as illustrated above. I would always tell him I was not interested in joining him for his slime-swim, and then he would get really angry, and then I would wake up.

My dreams may not mean anything, but the fact that I’ve always had such…creative…ones must mean that I’m brilliant. Right?